


A Winter's Tale

by SoftlyTea



Series: The Misguided Adventures of Liya and her Superiorly-Bred Mer [6]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: A Winter's Tale - Freeform, Angst, Bondage, Brandy - Freeform, Breakup, F/M, Loss, Masturbation, Memories, Ondolemar makes bad decisions, References to orgasm denial, Regret, Smutty Flashbacks, Songfic, a not-so-happy Christmas, shameless pining, sweet heavens above Ondolemar doesn't Liya get any say in this whatsoever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 05:51:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8956933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoftlyTea/pseuds/SoftlyTea
Summary: It's a love that could never be, though it meant a lot to you and me.





	1. I Can Follow You No More

**Author's Note:**

> 'A Winter's Tale,' by David Essex, is one of my favourite Christmassy songs. It's also one of the saddest.
> 
> Lyrics owned by Mike Batt and Tim Rice, according to Wikipedia.  
> Bethesda owns Ondolemar.  
> I own Liya.  
> ImDex owns Imani.
> 
> Happy Whatever-Holiday-You-Celebrate, and I feel that I really have to tell you that this isn't the end of their story. They really do get their happily-ever-after. This is fanfic, after all.

> _The nights are colder now_  
>  _Maybe I should close the door_  
>  _And anyway the snow has covered all your footsteps_  
>  _And I can follow you no more_  
>    
> 

It had started –

Well, it was difficult to say where it had started, really. Perhaps it had always been there, a loose thread they had tugged through their days together, neither of them turning to see the fray until it was too late.

Until now.

This could not go on. He has explained this to her, in the kindest way he knew how. He has told her how the Dominion would find out, eventually. He is now explaining how they would be on the run for the rest of their lives, how he could not leave, how their lives were at risk, how –

She interrupts him.

“Do you love me?”

Her question brings him up short, disarming him. He needs only a moment to adapt, but even so, he can’t look at her as the first lie he has ever told her leaves his lips, the lie he hopes will be worth it to end all this,

“No.”

He clenches his fists, hating himself as the tears brimming in Liya’s eyes spill over –

“Did you ever love me?”

 – cannot break, will not, why that question, Liya, why-

He wills a steadiness into his voice that he does not feel, pulls his reasons to the forefront of his mind. They’re getting flimsier by the minute. He wants to cross the ever-widening chasm between them, gather her into his arms, stroke her hair, tell her he was lying, he was stupid, they could make it work. Instead, he takes a deep breath and lifts his head, forcing himself to look at her; he owes her this at least as he leaves her with the last lie he will ever tell her,

“No.”

She turns away from him. He thinks he might be angry with her, then, because he wants her to scream, to curse him to Oblivion, to lash out, anything but this silence. But she doesn’t. After what seems like an eternity, she turns, her face blank, her eyes dulled and she looks at him like she would a stranger and it hurts him more than he could ever have imagined.

“Then there is nothing more to be said.”

Then she leaves, without another glance in his direction.

Ondolemar stares at the space she had occupied until a gust of wind blows a flurry of snow through the still-open door and pulls his attention from the empty wall.

As he shuts it, he realises that the snow has covered her prints, as if she were never there.


	2. It's Hard To Be Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter references [I Will Always Be Here,](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6544477/chapters/14972227) by me, and [Pajama Party,](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7185500) by the lovely ImDex.

> _The fire still burns at night_  
>  _My memories are warm and clear_  
>  _But everybody knows  
>  _ _It's hard to be alone  
>  _ _At this time of year_

Time is a curious and powerful thing, Ondolemar thinks. In the space of an evening, his most cherished memories have become his nightmares. He doesn’t want to think of these times, and yet, here they are, forcing themselves into his mind and demanding his attention.

Liya, face tear-stained and covered in mud, laughing as he licked sweetroll icing off the tip of her nose.

Liya, Imani and a bottle of brandy, eyes shining, more laughter – there was always laughter, he wonders if he’ll ever laugh again – discussing the most apt animals for that ridiculous nightwear…

Liya, her eyes wide in childish glee as the Silver-Blood Inn erupted in the celebration and joy of her surprise birthday party.

Liya, crouching down to buy a flower from a little girl on the street, giving the little waif five times what she owed, then promptly tucking the flower behind his ear and looking oh-so-hurt when he tried to remove it.

Liya, soft and warm and snug against him, smelling of woodsmoke and soap and _home_ , the sound of her even breaths and the occasional contented little snuffle as she slept, gentle dawn light playing on her hair and making it shine like spun gold.  

Liya and everything about her, the smell of her, the taste of her, the feel of her, the sound of his name on her lips in any of the many contexts she used it.

The way she felt under him, surrounding him. Liya, _his_ , the way she –

_No, no, no_ , he begs to whatever divines would listen to him now, _not this, not now,_ but it doesn’t work.

Liya, predatory. Even Bretons can tower over you when you’re flat on your back and they’re straddling you.

Liya, running an idle finger over the leather strips binding his wrists to the headboard.

He can’t fight it now, any more than he could then. Just as then, he lets the whole scene play out…

_“I expect I shall have to punish you, then.”_

_“And how do you propose to do that?” He means to scoff, but his breath hitches in his throat and he trails off weakly as she pulls her shirt over her head, stretches very deliberately (his eyes darken at what such an act does to her breasts) and reaches behind her to stroke his aching erection..._

In the present, Ondolemar curses the fact that his anatomy does not seem to understand grief.

_Liya, hovering above him, brushing teasingly against him until he is painfully, desperately hard and his cock is slick with her arousal and his, and he strains against the binds, praying they might break and he could pull her down onto him and fuck her properly… the thought makes him growl in frustration, but the accursed knots hold firm._

He begins to stroke himself, almost numbly for all the pleasure it brings him. An unpleasant part of his mind reminds him that he might as well get used to it. His memories are all he has left, now. He might as well enjoy them.

_Liya, smiling deviously, dropping down just enough so the head slips inside her and he swears that if she doesn’t have mercy on him soon, he will scream, or cry, or die, or something-_

_Liya’s voice, with that snide little edge to it that does things to him that he doesn’t like to admit, “You want to come?”_

_She gives him no time to respond before she leans forward to whisper in his ear, “then_ beg _, Elf,” and he breaks shamefully quickly._

_Liya, head thrown back, eyes closed, a picture of ecstasy. To him, what every artist could only dream of capturing, what every Dibellan follower prayed to, the epitome of love and lust and pleasure, everything he ever wanted, everything he’d scarcely dared to dream of._

_Liya-_

“…Liya.”

He spills into his hand, and feels like death.


	3. Love and Strength

>   
>  _It was only a winter's tale_  
>  _Just another winter's tale_  
>  _And why should the world take notice_  
>  _Of one more love that's failed?_  
>  _A love that could never be_  
>  _Though it meant a lot to you and me_  
>  _On a world wide scale we're just another winter's tale_
> 
> _[...]_  
>    
>  _Good luck, I wish you well_  
>  _For all that wishes may be worth_  
>  _I hope that love and strength are with you_  
>  _For the length of your time on earth_  
> 

 

_Why?_

He has numbed the bitterness of his self-induced afterglow with brandy. Enough brandy to make him brood, but perhaps that is better than reminiscing.

He tells himself, over and over again, that his endless ruminations before today had been accurate. That there was no future for them. That even if he were to leave the Dominion, he would be hunted down and terminated for defection. That he left because he loved her; that he couldn't put her through that.

The tiny, guilty part of him draws strength from the brandy and informs him that perhaps he should consider the possibility that he left because he was too afraid to stay, too afraid of what she meant to him, too afraid that if he were even _contemplating_ giving up his life’s work for this one single little Breton, what did that make him and the foundations on which he had built his entire existence?

The voice grows a little louder, reminds him of more things he would rather forget.

 _What was it you said to her,_ Commander _? ‘I will always be here?’ Did your word mean nothing?_

He tries to argue, tries to convince himself that he made promises to the Dominion which always had to come before anything else, but it seems Liya has not taken back the heart she gave him, or perhaps just showed him he had all along.

 _Why her? If you_ had _to throw something away, why did you choose to cling to the thing that was causing you pain?_

No, he cannot justify this anymore. He cannot return to his pre-Liya self, can no longer live in a world where love must bow to duty.

 _And even if it must, Ondolemar, perhaps some loves are worth fighting for, and if that is the case, yours certainly is. Oh no, I’m sorry. **Was**_.

The sound of the empty brandy bottle shattering against the wall silences the voice, but not the feelings it left behind.

He falls to his knees, tears streaming down his face, and prays. He prays, selfishly, for himself, but it isn't long before he’s praying for Liya. If praying to an Altmer divine on behalf of a Breton is somehow heretical, he doesn't care. He has no other options left, and if this is to be his final act of love for her, so be it. He needs her to be happy, to be well, to be safe. To be strong in the face of the trials she may have yet to endure. To be loved, as much as the realisation that it will not be by him sticks painfully in his throat and causes fresh tears to fall.

Because in the end, what else matters? Not the Dominion. Not his race’s arbitrary ideas of superiority. Not the gods people worship or the type of people they love or the races they are born into.

Just the very things that he has thrown away.


End file.
